How it's Wasted- The Magnus Archives

~one~

It had been two weeks and four days since Jon had last seen Martin.

(Not that he was counting.)

Mostly, Jon tried- and failed- to put the man from his mind. Thinking about Martin just made him even more worried and depressed than he already was.

He wanted to approach him, to reach out and try to actually have a conversation with him. To see if he was okay. To apologise for leaving him alone for so long.

To console him about the death of his mother.

But Martin had so far evaded him for the longest stretch he could remember since he had started working in the archives.

Earlier on in their time working together, Jon thought ruefully, he would have been grateful of a two week break from Martin's constant presence, his tea rounds (these days, Jon would often find himself subconsciously checking the time, wondering where Martin was with his Earl Grey at half past ten, and again at three fifteen. Like clockwork. Well, not anymore.), his invitations to work drinks with Tim and Sasha that Jon point blank refused to go to (how he regretted that now...), his asking after Jon's weekend, if he had slept well, what he was having for lunch.

Now Jon would do almost anything for that eagerness to converse again.
He never thought how much he could have missed having Martin in his life.

But he was sure that Martin was avoiding him, and he didn't want to push him further away by trying to force him into conversation.

And so, after two weeks and four days, Jon felt a swooping feeling in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of Martin slipping into the men's room.

It wasn't a lot, but it was something.

And Jon knew that it was low, and that he shouldn't have done it, but he couldn't help himself- this was the closest he'd gotten in months to actually have a conversation with Martin. So, he waited outside the bathroom for Martin to come out, and then, he would corner him, and ask him such a direct question that Martin surely couldn't ignore him.

His breath quickened and his heart drummed in excitement as he heard the sounds of Martin washing his hands. The door creaked open. Jon took a deep breath.

"Ah, Martin!" He exclaimed, as if he hadn't expected to see him, as if he hadn't been waiting outside. "There you are, I've been looking for you. I..."

But his words, some nonsense about following up an important bit of research for a statement with a long since cold trail, died in his throat as he stared at Martin.

Something was wrong.